Merlin: Ice and Fire
by Blue Moon One
Summary: A summary is still in the works: but basically everything Merlin with a twist of Scandinavian folklore, a bunch more dragons with the OC who happens to be Gwaine's half sister of Scandinavian origin, who has a deadly form of magic that can kill her(seen later), can morph into a large sky dragon, and her sword, Fafnir.
1. Prologue

Notes: This is a crossover YES, I'm just going to wait to put it as a crossover until Fjord the Icewing-Skywing is more involved, as for now, WoF is just seen as a mention. This is also my first time writing Merlin, so please, any guidance is welcomed. Cross posted from Tumblr and Wattpad, idk where else I'm gonna put it, probably AO3, first chapters are short because I'm not the greatest at description for fantasy settings.

She escapes through the front door in the dead of morning, only carrying a stolen sword of her brother who had left home years ago when she was only a young child, and looking back at the home she felt a pang of fear in her chest. She keeps going, running through the bustling streets of the large kingdom, and passing through the kingdom's walls.

Her mother had nicknamed her Swallow, due to how small and graceful she'd been in playfully training with the remaining knights, her mother being the widow of one. She was quick with them too, getting the nickname "Skywing", named after the swift flying fire dragons who despite being seen as cruel, they were graceful in flight.

Her true name was Gwendolyn, shortened often to Gwen. Small in stature, lean, athletic, fit. One of the few to have been trained as a female knight, rather known as a Dame, not that Gwen knew that would happen her mother would have much more joy marrying her off due to being her only daughter.

That today, is exactly what she plans to avoid, maybe cross paths with her sibling later in life. As she tries to sheath the weapon somewhere on her body, the crowd starts to get thicker, and she finds it hard to find a way out, before mentally cursing at the crowd and finding one of the kingdom walls. She takes herself up, despite the dress she wears, hoists herself up onto some of the rocks.

She may be tiny, but she has enough strength to pull herself up over the rock castle walls, although she almost loses her sword and her arm stretches out in reflex to grab it and swung her body up.

Gwendolyn has enough momentum, and lets her hand slip on the next swing, rolling a few times in the air before landing on the ledge in a crouch like position, arm stretched out with the sword in hand, her other hand in front of her feet.

"Good job, Birdie!" A knight shouts from below.

"Yeah, thanks!" She shouts down to him, and shuffles off from the ledge, landing on stone cold stone.

She continues on, knowing that she truthfully was trespassing , at least her parrying was good enough to get her away a few feet. She decides to climb her way down the other side, escaping from the kingdom officially, however only by a few feet. The rest of the walk was nothing more than the forest, dark and cold as she felt a cold chill creep through her pale skin.

Gwendolyn continues onward however, unburdened by the cold no matter how fearful it makes her feel. She's strong, possibly unlike her sibling who had decided to leave and never return again. Although she remembers when he was in his spry years like herself, had a thing for spending his time in the taverns around the kingdom. She wasn't like that no, spending time learning from the various knights around who'd offered more than enough for their family to continue living.

Her escape was only part of her agenda, another was to meet the grand ice dragons up north, and tame one to bring back to the king to allow her family to be considered worthy again-after all Gwendolyn knew how hard taming a dragon was. More than few knights get killed in their first week, she never planned to do that. Reading the various legends around about the silver to light blue and silver scaled creatures.

Gwendolyn first needs to find herself a horse, and set up a camp so she will not freeze to death in the night chill as winter draws near. Gwendolyn clutches the hilt of the longsword. She feels that in the future, it will be much more important. As she ponders on it more, travelling down the paths, runes appear in her head with a single sound: _Fafnir_.

She's heard of that name, from somewhere, although she doesn't know from where. Gwendolyn continues on through the trees, quicker on her feet as the threat of being spotted becomes further and further, still she knows that she must not stop as stopping is a threat of being captured.

By the time nightfall hits the moor she resides on, is the moment the fear now settles in-she doesn't know how to make a shelter truthfully. If anything, Gwendolyn can see herself having froze to death out here as the temperature starts to drop rapidly. Gwen sits down in a patch of grass with the sword set beside her. As the sun has now set, she looks at the sword that glimmers with a faint glow, like that of a faint torchlight.

"Anyone there?" She calls, looking around, twisting her body to get a good view of the thicket behind her, bit nothing-nothing that shines on the swords.

Gwen picks up the blade, holding the longsword to her face as it reflects her eyes-dark in colour. Her hair in a braid, over her shoulder. The more she clutches the hilt, the warmer it gets, and the warmer she feels. She nods, and sets the blade towards the ground, running down to the sound of a stream nearby. She kneels the best she can, washing off the dusty blade as a gleam of runes come out to her.

The same one she'd seen in her head.

_Fafnir_

Gwendolyn looks around, why name a sword a Scandinavian name? She knows well enough about Scandinavia to know the name isn't close to anything Britannia. The sword stays warm in her hand, and it feels like it belongs. Was that why her brother had told her to hide the sword after he'd stolen it? Because this sword sure as hell looked to be enchanted. If she was seen with any magical item, she would be killed, Gwen knew that.

She needed to get to Scandinavia, give this sword back to whoever it belonged, but a part of her wonders what would happen if she kept the sword. The sword makes her feel powerful, like as if she could battle whole armies...and she stops herself there.

She's never thought like this before, and as she tosses the sword away, the feeling of greed stops.

That's where she remembers Fafnir. A greedy dwarf who'd gotten turned into a dragon, slain by his own brother and his father made an attempt on his brother's life. Fafnir, a symbol of greed, wisdom, all things that seem to contradict.

She doesn't hear the loud whistle that breaks the silence, and only the loud THUD behind her. Whatever it is, it snarls, and she can feel a frosty chill up her back. It comes closer, a sound that reminds her of a rattle snake's tail, and she looks back, and almost screams as she stutters through the river to grab the sword and points it at the dragon.

It barks, a barking laugh.

"You are a funny little human," It says in a deep silky voice, full of wisdom.

He looks sleek, glittering silver-white, like knight's armour. Huge thin spines on his neck to his tail, a massive ruff of them along his neck, and on his tail. He has huge wings, and icy blue eyes.

"You're a Frostmaker," She says.

"I beg to correct you, Icewing," The dragon says, "Not totally Icewing, partial Skywing."

"You mean Cloudjumpers?" She asks.

"Kid, I live in these societies, I know what our tribe names are," The Frostmaker hisses, hitting her lightly with a talon.

"If you live in these societies, tell me where your kingdom is," Gwen says, setting her arm down by her side to gaze up at the massive hybrid drake.

Drake is usually reserved for the masculine dragons, Dragoness is used as feminine. The Frostmaker ruffles his wings, moving his stance as a snarl comes from his throat, whipping his head around to show her his long neck. She sees between his scales start to glow like embers between stone, and she can feel a bit of heat.

This Frostmaker mostly seemed to be a Cloudjumper, and right then, it lit up the forest in a fury of flames. Gwen stands, amazed by the large creature, having met a Frostmaker and Cloudjumper hybrid so soon had shocked her a lot.

Gwen starts towards the river, and runs through the cold water. She hides in the bushes, away from the dragon who fights a convoy of knights, flying up with ease. She takes the sword, and cuts at her dress, making it so it rests above her knees, making it easy for her to run despite wearing boots. Either way, she would be able to run much easier and much faster.

The Frostmaker is gone, only a silver glint in the sky like a star that gets further and further away. Gwendolyn starts running again, despite the fact that her lungs burn. And when she gets away, she's hot to the touch, with the dragon sword in her hands.

Gwendolyn rests by a stream, and when she awakens she is cold. As cold as the frost glistening and fluttering off the Frostmaker's scales.


	2. Chapter 1

Two Years Later

Ancient Norway

Mid Winter

Three years have passed, three years since Gwendolyn escaped from her home, leaving her mother behind. Three years has landed her as a fifteen year old girl, mercenary with the golden blade that certainly had magical properties. Speaking its name, verbally, or mentally with her hand held out, the sword will return to her. The sword either becomes heavy or light, depending how much greed she feels, the less greed, the more light the sword feels.

Gwendolyn sits in front of a fireplace, sharpening the weapon, with her boots taken off right near the fireplace to dry from the snow. It is late at night, where the weariness of sleep pricks at her eyes like the snow on her bare skin. She lies back in the chair of the spare building she was given as a place to sit and rest. Gwendolyn hums a song as she brandishes the blade in front of the fire and utters the words:

"Fafnir."

The sword glows bright, the blade suddenly becoming sharper than with what she used, and the runes shimmered a bright gold much brighter than the blade itself. She feels a heavy power in it, and clears her mind, clears it of anything negative, clears the thoughts of greed before the sword lightens-light as a single feather.

She holds the blade up, smiling at it. Fafnir's glow dims as the door opens, and the runes are now quiet instead of a constant humming.

"Agnarr wants to speak with you," A voice comes from outside in the quiet stillness of the night, and Gwendolyn nods.

She attempts to find her words in the Norse language.

"I will be outside in a minute," Gwendolyn says, lifting herself up from her chair, and sheathing her sword as the door closes.

A small voice whispers;

_Emrys_

She stops, unsheathing the sword in which this wasn't the first time it happened. The sword spoke names to her, names of people that she needs to be careful of.

_Gwaine_

It speaks again, and she looks at it, "Why must I fear my own brother?"

No response, as the sword totally dims, no light escapes from the gold. She sheaths the blade again on her waist, walking through the door and down a few wooden steps, a little spring in her step. Gwendolyn feels the chill on her face immediately, and follows the young boy who'd spoken to her a few seconds prior. He leads her towards a large home, where there had been fences that encased cattle. She'd left her horse in town, thinking that she wouldn't need it.

The boy is only a few years younger than her, dark hair and dark eyes as he wears a cloak like much of the rest of the people here, although fur and hide unlike those back home. Gwendolyn unsheaths her sword again upon entering through a large arch made of wood of the residence. The boy was known as, in English, Sparrow, at least thats what she could gather from her limited Norse.

The boy slows his running gait to that of a walking one, and allows her to enter first into a widely lit area. A man starts to step forward from a sitting area, having his own sword looking as though it was made recently. From her adventures across Scandinavia, she'd learned how much these "vikings" treasured their appearance and up to date weaponry-vain if you so would call them. She tries to find her words in Norse to adress the man, stuttering as she does so.

"No need," He says.

Despite his threatening voice, the man seemed to want no harm.

"I see you have yourself the family sword," The man says.

"My brother stole it," Gwendolyn says, tightening her grip on the weapon.

"You can relax, I am not here to hurt you just to talk," The man says.

"Tell me why my brother stole this sword," Gwendolyn says.

"Your brother, Gwaine was it?"

She stiffens for a moment.

"How do you know my family?" Gwendolyn asks.

"If I am not mistaken, you are my daughter who your mother ran off with when your brother was just a young one, I am very surprised that he remembers where I reside," The viking says. "Now, as of the sword, he took it because of greed, that sword has great power, and with the greedy ones who take it it cannot be used. As I've seen you around you wield it well, so it's yours to keep."

"But it's yours," Gwendolyn tries to give him the sword with the hilt pointed at him.

He pushes it away with a shake of his head, "No, it's yours. The sword choses it's handler, and if that handler cannot control their greed it will chose another."

"So I have to be nice?" Gwendolyn asks, taking the sword back, and sheathing it on her hip.

"Not nice, but humble and merciful to the young, defenceless, and poor," Agnarr says, patting down a piece of wood for her to sit on, across from him.

With a wave of his hand, the viking, who seemed higher ranked, dismisses the servant like boy; and as she looks back at him, he bows and walks away, closing the door in his departure.

"Now tell me, what is your name?" He asks.

"Gwendolyn." She speaks.

"Gwendolyn," He repeats, "As the rest of this family, I do nothing more but hope that you are humble and merciful to these young, defenceless, and poor."

"I will, father," She says, the last of the sentence feels strange on her tongue.

Gwendolyn stands, "I guess I will dismiss myself-"

"No, stay," Her father says. "I want to see you and Fjord together."

"Who names their child Fjord?" She asks.

"Fjord is not a child, he's the dragon of this family, part Skyclimber and Tundrawanderer," Her father says.

"You call them differently than those in Albion do," Gwendolyn says. "We call them Cloudjumpers and Frostbreathers."

"Different countries, different words," Her father says, then points to the sword, "I would like you to meet the one who helped make the weapon."

Gwendolyn nods, standing up and nodding towards the door as the wind outside worsens to a ghostly shriek. Agnarr allows her to exit, smiling as she does so and turning to walk down one of the other hallways.

The outside is bitter, stinging and burning her cheeks with snow, walking back quickly towards her little house as a shriek echoes through the air. Gwendolyn brandishes her sword with a quick one eighty pivot, looking up at a large white dragon with its wings spread wide. The dragon has a large ruff of spines, and dark blue eyes with needle like spines, as well as spines on the tip of its tail. The dragon shrieks, landing and it enhales with a loud hiss. Some start yelling, and spears start flying through the air to attempt to pierce the flesh and scales; the dragon only snarls. Gwendolyn rushes forward and takes a large swing at its arms, making a large cut. It shrieks in pain.

Her father comes out of the house nearby, carrying a bow and shouts over the wind and the angry frost dragon, "I will distract it! You try to weaken it before Fjord gets here!"

Gwendolyn nods, rushing forward again and slicing at the scales of the dragon, each time, the blade glows more and more, but seems to become heavier. Another roar breaks through the air, and as she looks up, a dragon who looks like the one she had seen years ago with his jaws sinking into the neck of the other frost dragon. Fjord rips his head away, making a clear SNAP sound around, and the frost dragon falls limp.

"Fjord," Agnarr says, taking a knee, "It has been a few years."

"And in a few years I come in times of need," Fjord's voice rumbles.

Gwendolyn walks forward, sheathing the sword and soon breaking into a shuffle, rather slowly. "Are you the dragon?"

Fjord swings his head around, loosely diamond shaped with his bright blue eyes.

"The one who defended you from that calvary," Fjord nods. "She is my new rider?"

"Yes, and I believe she shall start her training by morning, put some good thought into my only heir," Agnarr tells the dragon.

Fjord growls in respect, bowing his head and looking back at Gwendolyn, and then at the mountains in the distance. "Shall I take her to my territory?"

"Not without her being armoured," Her father says, "I won't lose an heir."

"Our training starts tomorrow," Fjord says, "In the break of day."

Gwendolyn nods, walking back to her house within the village and the dragon takes the dead dragon away from the settlement.

She has been awake for a long time now, and when she awakens, she is met with the sounds of the wind in the distance, and a storm gathers. She hears a knock at her door and her father shouts for her to be at his acreage in a few minutes.

They stood at the edge of a cliff, and below them were flat ground as Gwenolyn clutches at the reins and uses the dragon's plated armour to climb up to the saddle that sat on the back of his neck were wires came out to control the steering of the dragon. She looks back at her father, wrapping a scarf around her mouth as she sets a pair of glass goggles over her eyes.

She's told the first take off is rough, and that if she needed to eat, she eat after. Gwendolyn pulls a bit on the leather, signaling for Fjord to start his run across the icy tundra's pavilion. And so he does, spreading his large wings gracefully and taking a dive off the pavilion. The dragon levels out instantly to soar through the wind and catching on currents coming in from the ocean nearby, making it easier for him to fly up or down.

Gwendolyn almost forgets about her feet that are locked in securely to the system that allows her to control where he veers off. She tugs on the reins, and allows some slack on one side while tugging on the other as Fjord flies up in a tight stair-case spiral like motion. Gwendolyn holds on, right as she feels her stomach drop and her heart leap, and Fjord has went into an inverted arc. She looks down as the start to go into a steep stoop, giggling like a child as they approach the coast again.

Another group joins up beside them, and she looks at the large dragon. She hears his voice echo in her head, which makes her stop totally. Had the dragon done telepathy? Surely yes he had.

_There is a group of the Anglo Saxons trying to weave their way through, the area's air defence force wants us to scope them out,_ Fjord says.

_Anglo-Saxons?_ Gwendolyn asks.

_The British, Welsh, Irish, Scottish, those kinds of people,_ Fjord replies.

_The worst people, I speak from experience_, Gwendolyn says, readying the sword that is flush with her hip, grabbing it by the hilt as they take a dive for the ocean.

The dragons that are there are ones with ruffs around their neck, however more snake like in look, and camouflage themselves quickly, and so can their riders. They are all equally fast though, but Fjord seems to be a little quicker. As Gwendolyn gets a clear view of the ships, she can see huge crossbow looking mounts, three on the front, and three on the back.

_Are you telling me that we have to fight them? _She asks, hearing Fjord give a loud war cry shriek as he dives down on them, and opens his maw to let a jet of fire rain down on the ships, then twists away from them.

_Kid, how good can you fly? _Fjord ignores her question.

_Well not good, _She says as a large metal projectile flies past them at high speed, and she hears a shriek from behind as one of the camouflage dragons fall from the sky and into the water.

_Then hang on, I don't need to lose you in the drink, I will let you off when I get close enough, but you'll have to jump, take off the harnesses on your boots when I say,_ Fjord says.

Gwendolyn nods as he looks back at her, then takes another dive bomb at the fleet of ships, only his wings get raked with metal. Looking back at the large warship, she can see the red cloaks of many of the knights that are there. This had to be specifically a siege done on the draconic population.

_Where's dad?_ Gwendolyn asks.

She thinks to herself, these red cloaked knights bear a gold dragon on their cloaks. Pendragon. Ironic. Their king must have wanted them dead, just like how she heard various rumours of the dragon population in Albion all being killed. Fjord roars at them, and a scalding hot breath of fire catches the ship on fire; the crew too slow to fan out the flames are now sinking to the icy depths of the water. Gwendolyn pitties them, but not for long as more bolts from the crossbows come flying at her and Fjord.

"Take down the one with the hybrid!" One shrieks, she can barely hear it over the howling wind and her own breaths.

_Now!_ Fjord shouts.

Gwendolyn reaches over as he's flying slower, and unlocks the buckles and as she's climbing up onto the dragon who's now moving his wing to let her fall, she trips and just skims the boats surface before being taken under the cold water. The cold hits her hard, a shock through her system as she chokes under the water, the dragon of her's diving under the currents to grab her despite that she's already unconscious.

Fjord roars at the knights.

"I curse death upon the Pendragons, I curse the lands of Albion to be plagued by the invasion of we better peoples," Fjord snarls at them, "You have killed my rider, and you will pay the price."

With an inhale, Fjord then stretches his neck out to bare his teeth as his throat lights up blue, and a wave of cold air spreads upon the ice to freeze the boats in place, out in the middle of the ocean


End file.
